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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29890917">Sorry Excuse for a Mage</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RooBadley/pseuds/RooBadley'>RooBadley</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Rhythm, Meter, Structure [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baz teaches Simon how to use his magic, Cussing, Established Relationship, Innuendo, M/M, POV Alternating, Penny tries, Simon Snow Gets His Magic Back, but she's a shit teacher, cussing and innuendo need to be my default tags</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:22:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,681</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29890917</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RooBadley/pseuds/RooBadley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon's not an idiot. Nor is he a Normal, no matter what he tries to tell you. After a strange night where his magic starts to come back in an odd, gut-churning rush, perhaps he'll have another chance to be a mage. Nobody loves magic like Simon, surely he deserves it. </p><p>But they've long since left Watford, so who'll teach him to use his magic?</p><p>Can be read as a standalone fic, though I've placed it in this canon divergent universe.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Penelope Bunce/Shepard, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Rhythm, Meter, Structure [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1977055</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>114</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After writing <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27087610/chapters/66141610">Use Your Words</a> and deciding Simon <i>deserved</i> to have his magic back, I kinda couldn't get the thought out of my head of how that would work. So I've gone back and retcon'ed it (sorta, I don't think this messes with the continuity at all) so that we have the backstory on how Simon got his <strike>groove back</strike> magic back. Chronologically this falls between <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26383942/chapters/64266343">Not an Idiot</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27087610/chapters/66141610">Use Your Words</a>.</p><p>That said, I don't think there's actually that many references to that AU world. So, ya know.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The whole shebang is written and I'll update every other day.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>BAZ</b>
</p><p>I wake up in the middle of the night with a start. There is a retching noise coming from somewhere in the flat and a distinct lack of Simon beside me. I slide out of bed, grab my wand from the nightstand, and hurry down the hallway. Simon’s sat in front of the toilet, his knees pulled up to his chin, and a distinctly peaky look on his face. </p><p>“What’s wrong, love? Something you ate not agreeing with you?” I ask, dropping to the floor beside him and rubbing his back. </p><p>“‘S not it,” he says, his blue eyes glazed and delirious. “Something’s not right though. I feel all wrong.”</p><p>I place the back of my hand on his forehead. He doesn’t feel abnormally warm. I press my hand against his neck. That seems normal too. Normal. I won’t say that to him. He can get surprisingly tetchy about it for someone who is most definitely not a Normal. </p><p>“Let me get you some water, love, I’ll be right back,” I head into the kitchen of the flat we share with Penelope and Shepard to fill a glass. </p><p>When I return Simon is leaning against the bathtub with his head tipped all the way back, mouth open, gulping air. He’s stripped off his sleep shirt and is twisting it in his hands. </p><p>“I’ll trade you this glass of water for your poor wrinkled shirt,” I say, offering the glass. We trade, and starts gulping down water like he has a thirst that’ll never be slaked. I fold while he chugs. It’s an old Watford football t-shirt of mine. He looks cute in it. He’s stretched the shoulders all to shit. </p><p>Simon sets the empty water glass down on the tile with a loud clunk and a gasp. </p><p>“May I cast something to try and help?” I ask, sitting on the edge of the tub and carding my fingers through his hair. Simon nods his permission, so I lean down and place a flat palm across his belly. </p><p>“<b>Settle down</b>,” I intone, pointing my wand at his stomach. Simon takes a deep breath. I feel his muscles tense and release under my hand. </p><p>“Better?” I ask. </p><p>“Not a bit,” he moans. </p><p>Odd. That should have worked. I try casting <b> early to bed and early to rise</b>, <b> get well soon</b>, <b> good as new</b>, and even <b> kiss it better</b>. None of my spells work, and for a moment I have a flashback to Hampshire and the last time I was without my magic. My body tenses in response. I move to the mirror and cast a quick <b> not a hair out of place </b> and watch as my hair smooths itself into perfect order. Alright, I still have my magic. So, what in Merlin’s name is wrong with Simon?</p><p>He lowers his head and sucks in breath after breath. His back expands and contracts as he does. Something’s definitely wrong. Something I can’t seem to fix.</p><p>“Can you describe how you feel, love?”</p><p>Simon stares at the wall. He’s starting to unnerve me. His eyes dart wildly, like they can’t focus on any one spot for too long. </p><p>“It’s like a sort of burning. A tingling, all through my muscles. Deep in my bones. It feels—it-it feels like—it feels like—” he stammers. </p><p>There's madness in his eyes, and he reaches out wildly. He flails and grabs my leg, his grip almost painfully tight. </p><p>“Baz,” he croaks. “Baz…”</p><p>“Yes? What is it, Simon?” I’m really worried now. What’s wrong? What’s happening to him that my magic can’t fix? What’s happening that he can’t describe?</p><p>“Magic. It’s <em> magic</em>.” </p><p>“You think someone cast something against you? A curse? A hex?” Who would cast something against Simon? And how? And <b> <em>why</em></b>? We’re both mild-mannered University students. Simon studies Literature and writes poetry for Crowley’s sake. Who would want to hurt him? I'll kill them.</p><p>“No, not someone else’s magic. <em> My magic</em>. It feels like my magic used to feel, Baz.” He whirls on me, his blue eyes sparkle. “Baz, it feels like there’s <em> magic inside me</em>.” </p><p>I’m so surprised I drop my wand. It clatters on the tile floor. </p><p>“Is that even possible? Should we wake Bunce?” My words vomit out of me all at once. I can’t think straight. </p><p>“Your wand,” Simon demands.</p><p>“What about it?” </p><p>“Our magic has always been compatible, right? So if there’s some magic inside me I should be able to cast with your wand.” </p><p>I can’t move. I’m too terrified. </p><p>Simon grabs my wand off the floor. He looks up at me, his fingers gently wrap around the leather hilt. </p><p>“Can I? May I?” he asks gently. </p><p>I swallow and nod. His grip on my wand grows that little bit tighter.</p><p>“What should I cast?” he asks softly. He sounds scared. He never sounds scared. I <em> feel </em> scared.</p><p>“What about <b> <em>lights out</em></b>?” I offer. It’s a fairly simple spell for turning out the lights. Kids learn it. If there’s even the faintest glimmer of magic in Simon he should be able to cast it successfully. Alternatively,it’ll be like old times and his magic will come out too forcefully, misconstrue his intention, and concuss us both. It’s fine. Bunce and Shepard would find us eventually. </p><p>“Right," Simon whispers to himself, shaking out his hands and setting his jaw. “Let’s try this.”</p><p>He raises my wand in his hand, points it at the overhead light, and casts. </p><p>And we’re immediately plunged into darkness.</p><p>Our excited shouts wake Bunce and her American. Even though the lights are still out I see it when she appears at the door to the bathroom, out of breath and extending a rather shaky ring hand before her. Shepard is right behind, brandishing what looks to be a very large wooden spoon from our kitchen.</p><p>Perhaps we should have woken them up to let them know what was happening. </p><p>“What's wrong?!” Bunce shouts, turning the light back on, revealing us embracing in the center of what used to be a dark washroom, Simon is still shirtless. Penny rolls her eyes. “Great snakes, you two! I thought you were hurt! Come on, now, cast a silencing spell before you get weird with each other!”</p><p>Simon and I are still hugging, laughing, and shouting. Also, I may be crying. That’s to be determined. </p><p>We detach from one another and Penny notices my wand still gripped in Simon’s hand and her eyebrows fly halfway up her forehead. </p><p>“Boys, <em> what’s going on</em>?” she asks, eyeing us both up and down. </p><p>Simon and I share a smile, then I raise my hands dramatically and place them atop my head so it’s very clear that whatever happens next is entirely Simon’s doing. I nod to him. He raises my wand once more toward the bulb. </p><p>“<b>Lights out</b>,” he casts and the room goes black again.</p><p>“<em>Fuck a nine-toed troll</em>!” Bunce shouts in the dark. </p><p>“I <em> know</em>!” Simon is shouting back at her.</p><p>“<b>Let there be light</b>,” he casts.</p><p>“Your magic!” Or maybe she says <em>You're magic. </em>Bunce is still yelling and I can feel my smile nearly tear my face in half. Bunce leaps into the washroom and practically tackles Simon to the ground. We’re all laughing and hugging and I’m not ashamed to say I’m most definitely crying now. I think Simon and Penny might be, too. Shepard is still standing at the door to the bathroom holding his wooden spoon and looking deeply confused. </p><p>“Wait,” Bunce pulls back, holding us both at arm’s length. “Is it like before? Is it <em>too much</em>?” She looks scared to hear his answer. </p><p>“No, Pen, it feels like it’s barely there, really. It’s just a shadow of what it was before.” </p><p>“What does this mean?” Penny says. “What does it mean?!” She’s got Simon by the shoulders and is shaking him gently. I think we’d all be handling this much more reasonably and maturely if it weren’t half four in the morning.</p><p>“I dunno, Pen. I don’t know what it means!” Simon laughs and rakes his hands through his hair. </p><p>“Bunce, didn’t you say recently that your father has been measuring the last few dead spots and thought they might be closing up within the next month or so?” I ask.</p><p>“Yeah, he did,” she murmurs. </p><p>"How long ago did you talk?"</p><p>"Guess it's been about a month now, actually."</p><p>“What if it's, you know, connected?” I ask stupidly. I feel confident I’m standing at the edge of a breakthrough, and if it weren’t so damn early in the morning I’d be able to put it together eloquently and cogently. </p><p>Simon and Penny stare at one another, then they’re hugging and laughing and shouting again. </p><p>Shepard and I share a knowing look. It’s the look of a long suffering partner to someone on the outside of the Bunce/Snow dynamic. Shepard raises his spoon in a slow salute. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>SIMON</b>
</p><p>It’s been a few days since that night in the bathroom and my magic is most definitely coming back. It’s slow, but it’s happening. It’s been building steadily inside me ever since it first appeared in a strange, gut-churning rush. </p><p>I’m terrified it won’t stop. I’m terrified everything will happen all over again. The Humdrum, the magical dead spots, me imploding and losing it all. I think Baz and Penny are too, but we haven’t spoken about it yet. We’ll have to eventually.</p><p>We haven’t told anyone outside this flat, other than my therapist. I've told her. Of course I've told her. Emailed her asking for an emergency session the very next morning. So it's just my therapist and my family that know, my family being everyone in this flat. I’m scared if I tell the Coven they’d snap my wand and throw me in a tower somewhere for observation. </p><p>Penny called her father and casually brought up the conversation of dead spots. He shared that the last dead spot, the one over Hampshire, might have already closed. They were going to reach out to Baz’s parents to decide who would travel out and check. </p><p>Which means that maybe all the holes are finally closed up. All the damage I caused is repaired. Well, except for the trauma I put everyone through. We’re still working on fixing that. It could take decades. A lifetime. Several lifetimes.</p><p>It’s after dinner and Baz, Penny, Shepard and I are sitting around the living room talking. Baz and Penny have a lot of theories about why my magic came back. To be fair, they have a lot of theories about everything all the time.</p><p>“You emptied out your magic to fill the Humdrum, right? But what if you gave it too much? What if you offered up all the magic you <em> weren’t </em> supposed to have, but didn’t stop there? What if you gave it the magic you were <em> supposed </em>to have, too? Magic that was rightfully yours?” Penny says.</p><p>“Precisely, Bunce,” Baz drawls. “What if Simon emptied out all that magic and made <em> himself </em>into a hole in the magical atmosphere? The very last one.” </p><p>“I made a magical hole...inside myself?” I ask. They all nod. Well, not Shepard. He looks both confused and amused, as per usual. “So, <em> I’m </em>the last magical hole, and I need to be filled?”</p><p>There is a beat of silence before the laughter starts.</p><p>“Darling. Dearest. Beloved, <em> do you hear yourself</em>?” Baz raises his eyebrow and smirks while Penny rolls her eyes. </p><p>“Please desist at once with all this talk of filling your holes,” Penny says with disgust. Shepard laughs so hard he snorts.</p><p>Their laughter dies down and we’re left in awkward silence. </p><p>“So, I’m not a Normal? I’m meant to have magic? I’m meant to be a mage?” </p><p>Baz and Penny nod to me before turning towards one another and sharing a long, meaningful look. </p><p>“We need a plan of attack,” Penny says. </p><p>“Agreed. We’re the only ones I would trust with this task,” Baz nods. He knits his fingers together and raises an eyebrow. </p><p>He’s plotting. </p><p>“What do you mean, a plan of attack? A plan for what? To get rid of my magic? To empty me out again?” I ask, and my voice comes out strained and a hit hysterical. I can’t bear to hear their answer. I feel my body going into fight mode. My breathing is shallow and quick.</p><p>They both turn to look at me like I’ve suggested we set the sofa on fire. </p><p>“No, you ridiculous, beautiful fool,” Baz says with a little smile. “A plan for your education.” </p><p>“Bit late for that. Only two years of Uni left.” </p><p>“No, Simon, your <em> magickal </em>education,” Penny says. </p><p>“But... I went to Watford? With both of you?"</p><p>"Yes and you learned ever so much while there," Baz says coolly. I shoot him a glare, and he raises that damn eyebrow in response. I swear, one of these days I’ll just shave it off. Or I suppose I could learn how to spell it off, now that my magic’s coming back.</p><p>“Baz is right, Simon," Penny starts. "You have to admit, you didn’t learn much while at Watford. Your magic was always too wild and uncontrollable, you barely made it through our lessons.”</p><p>Baz picks up where Penny left off. “That’s if you even managed to make it to class. Half the time you were off on some wild mission for the Mage, long may he rot.”</p><p>“So you’re suggesting…” my voice trails off. Oh shit. I know where this is going. No. Nope. Not good.</p><p>“I’m <em>suggesting</em> you get private lessons from the two most talented mages of our year,” Penny says smugly, leaning forward and smiling at me with an intensity that is frankly terrifying. Yup. That's where I thought it was going. Shit.</p><p>“Lucky you happen to live with them,” Shepard laughs. </p><p>“Is it, though?!” My voice comes out high pitched and frantic. “Is it lucky?!” Neither Baz nor Penny pay me any mind. They’re already lost in a conversation that uses words like curriculum, syllabus, and practicum. </p><p>Fuck. These two swots are going to make my life a <strong><em>living hell</em></strong>, aren’t they?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Simon's magic lessons begin under the careful tutelage of Professors Pitch and Bunce.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>SHEPARD</b>
</p><p>I’m just getting back from work, when I hear it: nothing. I hear nothing. It’s too quiet outside our flat. They’ve spelled it silent.</p><p>I open the door and stumble straight into Simon’s first magic lesson. Penny is actively avoiding eye contact with me, she knows I asked them to plan it for a time I could be home and observe. This was inevitable, though. I love her, but I kind of figured she’d do this.</p><p>I throw my jacket over the back of a chair and sit down to watch. They’ve pushed all the furniture to the edges of the living room so they have more space. I sit on an armchair which has been shoved into the corner.</p><p>Simon looks exhausted. Normally he has the demeanor of a Jack Russell Terrier: bright, exuberant, playful. Energetic and clever. He’s the kind of person you want to be around. </p><p>Right now he looks haggard. Worn through. A Jack Russell Terrier left out in a rainstorm. A Jack Russell Terrier at the end of the world’s longest uphill walk.</p><p>“Simon, you really must punch that ‘t’ sound at the end of <em> put</em>. Your accent is getting lazy,” Penny asserts. “Like this, <b> put to rights</b>.” She enunciates a hard consonant sound at the end, and my stomach flips as the chair I’m on flies across the floor and into its regular place. </p><p>Simon sighs. “I’m not lazy, Pen. I’m <em> tired</em>. We’ve been at this for two hours. Give us a break.” </p><p>“Come on, Bunce. This is our fifth spell of the day. That’s more than sufficient progress,” Baz drawls, but there is an urgency and intensity pulling at the corners of his eyes. He’s working hard to stay calm.</p><p>“Not until he gets it right, Basil! He’s made good progress, but we need to set high standards and expectations from the start if we’re going to fit 8 years of magickal education into, what, a year?”</p><p>Simon sighs again, runs his hand over his face. “Fine, Pen.”</p><p>“You can do this. Mind your alveolar stop,” Penny chides. She spells the furniture back into the corners of the room and I hold on tight for the ride. </p><p>Penny stares intensely at Simon over her glasses. Baz’s eyes are closed and he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. I wonder how long Penny has been pushing like this. I wonder how close we are to an explosion.</p><p>“<b>Put to rights</b><em>,</em>” Simon casts, and it sounds great, but nothing happens. The chair I’m on doesn’t even judder. <strong>“<em>PUT TO RIGHTS!</em> <em>PUT TO FUCKING RIGHTS!"</em><br/>
</strong></p><p>Simon lets out a sound that is half-shout and half-groan. “Fucking, shitting, stupid... Fuck all of this!” he yells, kicking the fireplace and throwing his wand at the sofa.</p><p>“And <em> that’s </em>why I asked us to stop ages ago,” Baz says to Penny, picking up Simon’s wand and putting it in his back pocket along with his own. </p><p>“We can't stop now, this is important!”</p><p>“It’s also extremely important we don't push him so hard he wants to <em>murder </em><em>us in our sleep</em>,” Baz snaps. My head is volleying between the two of them, watching their exchange. </p><p>“Do I get a say in any of this or are you two going to decide everything for me?” Simon snarls. "Because I thought with the Mage dead and all that I was through with having people tell me what to do with my magic!"</p><p>It's silent for a moment. He's brought up the Mage. Even I know it's bad when he brings up the Mage.</p><p>“You're in control, Simon. What would you like to do?” Baz responds quietly, softly. </p><p>“I want—I want—” he starts. Both Baz and Penny are staring expectantly at him. I don’t envy Simon right now. </p><p>“Oh, sod this!” Simon stomps off to his room. We all flinch when he slams his door shut.</p><p>“Seems like that went well for the first lesson,” I offer, optimistically. </p><p>Baz rolls his eyes and stalks off after Simon.</p><p>“I'm serious Penny, it seemed like it went well. Nobody is bleeding. Nothings on fire. Put this down as a W.” I hop off the chair and narrowly avoid being knocked over by the coffee table as Penny spells the furniture back into place once more. </p><p>“What in the name of Morgana does ‘Put this down as a W’ mean, Shepard?”</p><p>“You know, a W? It was a win.”</p><p>“I don’t speak American.” </p><p>“Well, that’s alright. That’s why I’m here. To help you broaden your linguistic horizons.” </p><p>“Baz is the linguist. You’re from Omaha,” Penny snaps at me before falling onto the sofa and hanging her head in her hands. She lets out a massive sigh. I let her sigh it out. She’ll talk eventually. </p><p>“Am I being a tornado?” she asks, raising her head slightly to look at me. </p><p>“Do you want an honest answer, honey?”</p><p>“That means I am.”</p><p>“It doesn’t mean no…”</p><p>“Great snakes, what do I do? I just want to fix it! I want to help him be the mage I know he’s capable of being! If anyone deserves to know how to use their magic, it’s Simon!”</p><p>“You want to help.”</p><p>“I really do! But I’ve messed it all up.” </p><p>“You haven’t.” </p><p>“I have.”</p><p>“Ok, you have a bit.”</p><p>“Shepard!”</p><p>“Penny.” </p><p>She leans her head against my shoulder. I pull her closer. She lets me. </p><p>“You’re good at this stuff. Shepard. People stuff. Help me.”</p><p>“First you apologise by way of food. Get Simon whatever his favorite takeaway is, probably double the amount. The way to that dude’s heart is most definitely through his stomach. Then, and I think this part will be most difficult for you, you gotta listen to him babes. Him and Baz both. You’re not Headmistress Bunce trying to manage a class of unruly second years, you’re Simon’s best friend, and teaching him should be fun.”</p><p>“Magic is fun!” she protests. </p><p>“Yeah, it seemed like loads of fun when Simon threw his wand across the room, cursed a blue streak, and stormed out.”</p><p>“Point taken.”</p><p>"Be his friend."</p><p>"I <em>am</em> his friend! I was here first!"</p><p>"So lean into that! Be his friend first, before you're his teacher."</p><p>"Shepard, he deserves to learn how to use his magic! Simon is always thinking about how he wronged the World of Mages, but it wronged him too! It owes him a debt of gratitude. And I have a chance to right the wrong and help give him back what he deserves!"</p><p>“I’m not saying stop teaching him, I'm only suggesting you dial back the intensity a bit. Teach him how to do something stupid and fun just for the joy of it. Let him skive off some lessons. And listen to Baz when he says Simon needs a break. That dude is the Simon Whisperer.”</p><p>“<em>I</em> used to be the Simon Whisperer,” Penny sighs dramatically. </p><p>“I’m going to try not to feel jealous about how sad you sound about that.” I kiss her temple. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>BAZ</b>
</p><p>I can’t think about the whole Teaching Simon To Use His Magic situation for too long or I start to hyperventilate. Young, dumb, hopelessly in love teenage me is screaming incoherently in the back of my brain. <em> I’m teaching the Chosen One how to use his magic.  </em></p><p>At least, I <em> was </em>teaching the Chosen One how to use his magic. Before Bunce took over, started barking commands, and scared Simon into hiding. She knocked on the door a bit ago and apologised, said she was buying us dinner. I’ve never known Bunce to admit when she was wrong about anything. Still, that doesn’t negate the damage done. </p><p>“Penny is so smart and so good at magic, and...” Simon’s voice trails off at the end. </p><p>“And yet she absolutely sucks at teaching?” I offer. </p><p>Simon snorts out a laugh.</p><p>“Yeah, she sucks at teaching. It’s easy for <em> her </em> so she thinks it should be easy for <em> everyone</em>.” </p><p>Simon’s sitting on the bed and I’m at his desk chair, my desk chair, really. We share this room now, officially. I’ve started paying part of the rent and moved in all my things. </p><p>Well, not <em> all </em>my things. Even though Simon’s given me most of the wardrobe and I’ve spelled it to be a bit bigger, I still keep a lot of my clothes at Fiona’s. Not because I expect this to end (Simon Snow is stuck with me for life, and perhaps afterlife, too) but rather because Simon would mercilessly mock the sheer volume of clothing I own. Clothes are my one vice. </p><p>Well, that and murdering animals and draining them of their blood. Two vices. </p><p>Actually, let’s put lust on the list as well. </p><p>“Baz, you know how they say learning a foreign language is easy if you start as a kid, but gets hard when you’re older? I think magic is the same way. It's a language too, right? And I’m too old now and it’s too hard.” Simon ransacks his curls with his hands. </p><p>“Love, you’ve had one lesson. Cut the melodrama, that’s my thing.”</p><p>He scoffs. </p><p>“You can do this, Simon. I have complete and total faith in you. And if I have to make myself a human shield to keep Bunce from frustrating you, then I will. I’ve heard I can be very intimidating.” </p><p>I open my mouth and let my fangs slide down a bit before retracting them. </p><p>“That’s still so wicked. I’ll never get over how cool that is,” Simon says, his voice a bit husky. </p><p>“Well, I’m pleased one of us thinks it’s cool.” </p><p>“I like your fangs, you idiot. Dunno how many times you need to hear me say it.” </p><p>I smile at him. I let my fangs slide down into place before winking and retracting them again. He laughs. I hope he can tell I’m trying. I’m trying to love myself the way he loves me. I’m trying to see the value in this undead body and barely beating heart. </p><p>“Baz...umm, speaking of our...parts," I raise my eyebrows. Where's he going with this?  "I’ve been thinking about my wings and tail."</p><p>“Tell me more.” He's picking at the duvet and avoiding eye contact. I encourage him to continue by placing a firm hand on his knee. I know he finds touch to be grounding. </p><p>“I just—don’t you wonder why they haven’t gone away? I mean, if my magic’s back then shouldn’t they have disappeared by now? Gone back to wherever they came from? The magickal atmosphere? Or hell?” </p><p>I’ve wondered about it myself, honestly, and been waiting patiently for him to bring up the subject. They’re his wings, he should be the one to start the conversation. </p><p>“Maybe they were around long enough they’ve become a part of you. Perhaps they’re assimilated into the core structures of your body.”</p><p>“Well, that fucking sucks,” Simon grunts. </p><p>“Does it though?” I ask, sitting next to him on the bed. “We’ve invented some excellent spells for making them disappear, which I can teach you. What’s bothering you about them?”</p><p>Simon bites his lip and tugs on his hair. I want to bite his lip and tug on his hair. Preferably while his wings and tail are on full display.</p><p>Finally he mumbles something under his breath.</p><p>“What? That was indecipherable, and I have exceptionally good hearing,” I say, rubbing his thigh. </p><p>“They make me feel like a monster,” he says again, speaking to the floor. </p><p>I slide my hand up under the hem of his shirt. He’s so warm. So alive. I let my fingers rub at the base of his spine, where his tail appears. Then I trace up his back to the spot where his wings will branch from his body once our spells wear off. The muscles here run like thick cords beneath his flesh. Supporting the weight and heft of his wings has broadened his shoulders, filled him out even more.</p><p>“I like your monster parts,” I say, leaning in and kissing his jaw. Then I slide my hand back down, scratching my fingernails gently over the spot where his tail begins. He shivers under my touch. “I like all of your parts.” </p><p>“All of them?”</p><p>“<em>All of them</em>. What was it you said earlier about liking my fangs? <em> Dunno how many times you need to hear me say it</em>,” I repeat back to him in my best impression of Simon’s broad “I come from everywhere” accent. He rolls his eyes and shoves me in the shoulder. </p><p>“Teach me the wing spells, Baz.” </p><p>“Now, Simon? Aren’t you tired?”</p><p>“I’m not tired anymore.” He pulls his shirt off over his head, and suddenly I’m not tired anymore either. I raise my eyebrows at him and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t want it to rip when my wings come out. I like this shirt and I always feel like I can tell when they've been magickally mended.”</p><p>We practice concealment spells together for the better part of an hour. Simon’s an excellent student. He’s focused, determined, and he doesn’t get discouraged when he makes mistakes. Pretty soon he’s able to spell his wings there and gone again with ease. </p><p>A faint sheen of sweat has gathered on his body from the effort of his wings appearing and disappearing over and over. He’s practically glowing. He’s so beautiful. I reach out and tell him so, dragging my fingers through the tiny beads of sweat gathered along his clavicle. Then, I bring my fingertips slowly to my mouth and lick. He shudders at the act, spells his wings back out, and envelopes me in their leathery folds. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>SIMON</b>
</p><p>Baz is a good teacher. A really <em> really </em>good teacher, which surprises me for some reason. I mean, I know his mother was a teacher and the Headmistress of Watford, so it’s probably some hereditary thing, but it still surprises me. </p><p>I figured when we started this he’d bark commands and make me feel shitty until I figured it out, like that time we fought the chimera, but he hasn’t raised his voice or made fun of me once. Not one single time. It’s been kinda weird, honestly.</p><p>After our first, <em> disastrous </em>lesson with Penny, Baz told me he was taking charge of my magickal education. He sat Penny down to explain how our future magic lessons would work. Baz was all business. He presented his plan and expectations to her and she went along without a fight. (Not that I was listening behind the bedroom door, cracked slightly ajar. I would never.)</p><p>He and Penny came up with a list of spells they thought would be helpful for me. Then Baz sat me down to get my input on how to prioritize them. He made little notes along the side of his list as we talked. He scratched through some spells, reordered others. Then he asked what kind of spells I’d like to learn and what might be most helpful in the course of my day. </p><p>“Magic should enrich your life, Simon. It’s a gift, not a burden, so how would you like to use your gift?”</p><p>I didn’t quite know what to say to that, he was so earnest and open. So instead of saying anything, I kissed him. Baz says it's my default setting for when I don't know how to handle how I'm feeling towards him. I'm alright with that.</p><p>It’s been two or three months since we started working on the list, and we’re about halfway through already. Baz says I'm a quick study. I think he's just being nice.</p><p>“Let’s take a tea break, love,” Baz says to me. We’ve been practicing a new spell that can bring objects to me. I’ve got the hang of it with things that are within arm’s reach, but that’s not terribly helpful now is it? </p><p>“No, let’s keep going. I feel good about this,” I reply, flicking my wand through the air. </p><p>“Simon, take a break. I don’t want you to burn out. I’m insisting,” Baz says, pushing a stray wave of hair out of his face. It falls right back. He sighs and rolls his eyes, pushing it back again. He wears his hair loose more often now, especially since I told him I like it that way. Clearly it bothers him sometimes. Gets in the way. I came prepared today, though.</p><p>I pull a hair tie out of my pocket, one of his, and hold it out to him. </p><p>The smile that lights up his face would make Piccadilly Circus seem dull. He pulls me into a kiss so deep it knocks the air out of my lungs. </p><p>I realise when we decouple he’s used his strength to lift me a few inches off the ground. He sets me back down with a soft, embarrassed laugh. I don’t think he knew he’d done it. </p><p>Note to self, put a hair tie in my pocket every morning if it earns me that reaction. </p><p>We do end up taking a break. Baz makes us tea and brings in a plate of fruit and a tin of nice biscuits. Whenever Baz does the shopping he always gets nice biscuits that come in tins, rather than stuff that comes in thin plastic wrappers like I buy. We lounge around on the sofa eating and drinking. </p><p>“Have you ever thought about being a teacher?” I ask.</p><p>“I thought I <em> was </em>teaching. Isn’t that what we’re taking a break from?” </p><p>“No, I mean, yes, but, that’s not what I mean. I mean <em> teaching </em>teaching, maybe being a professor or something. Or—or teaching at Watford, if it wouldn’t be too painful? You’re really good at this, Baz.”</p><p>“Is there a small part of you that found it infuriating to admit I’m good at something?” Baz laughs. </p><p>“No. I’ve always known you were brilliant at everything, even before I knew what that meant in terms of being obsessively in love with you.” </p><p>He sips his tea and delicately chews a biscuit, but I see a flush to his cheeks and pleased little twinkle in his grey eyes.</p><p>“I have thought of teaching, though, yes. This whole process has been surprising. I’ve enjoyed it. Far more than I thought I would. I know you’re a major part of why I’ve enjoyed it. I’d enjoy being dropped into merwolf infested waters if it was with you, but this process of teaching you has made me feel…” his voice trails off. </p><p>“What, Baz?” I probe gently, knocking my knee into his. </p><p>“It’s made me feel purposeful and good. I’ve felt useful. Productive. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt productive before. I’ve enjoyed academia and playing on the football team at Watford, but I don’t think I’ve ever done anything that made me feel like I’d made a difference. Me specifically.”</p><p>I squeeze his shoulder. He continues. </p><p>“My father made a good deal of assumptions about how I would lead my life. After I came out as queer I think he expected I would go the way of Fiona, and become yet another disappointment. Living off the family money, getting drunk, and bringing a mild yet tolerable amount of shame to the Grimms and Pitches.” He flourishes his hand in the air as if he can conjure up a picture of that life. Maybe he can, because I immediately think back to how I used to imagine him lounging around his house in suits with waistcoats and silk scarves. </p><p>In reality Baz lounges around our flat in expensive fitted joggers, stylishly baggy jumpers, and two pairs of thick socks at a time. </p><p>“And this—” he starts, then sighs. I rest my head on his shoulder and hold his hand in mine. Baz is never at a loss for words, so whatever he has to say must be a lot. “This process has made me feel closer to my mother. It’s tethered us in a way we weren’t before. When I'm teaching you I feel the part of her that’s inside me burn a little brighter.” </p><p>It’s always burning with the Pitches, isn't it?</p><p>“Then keep blowing on the tinder,” I say. </p><p>Baz smiles down at me and squeezes my hand tight.</p><p>“You know I think I’d have learned a lot more at Watford if I’d had a teacher like you. Or less cuz I’d have been thinking inappropriate thoughts about you through your lessons,” I say, running my fingers up under the edge of Baz’s jumper and over his stomach. He gives a little shiver, which only encourages me. </p><p>Before he can protest, I pull him onto my lap and kiss his mouth. Hard. He leans into me, and I tug on the waistband of his trousers, pulling him closer. Just about the time I’ve finally wrestled his jumper over his head and thrown it across the room, the front door unlocks and in walks Shepard. </p><p>“Hey Simon! Hey Baz!” he says affably, as if he didn't just catch us in the middle of a common area half-naked and mid-snog. He continues walking past us to he and Penny’s room. “Bye Simon. Bye Baz. Bye Baz’s half-naked body.” </p><p>Shepard closes their bedroom door behind him and Baz and I fall into fits of laughter. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Baz and Simon trek out to Hampshire to see if the dead spot has closed. Simon learns fun new ways to torture and terrify Baz.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>BAZ</b>
</p>
<p>“Snow! I thought you said you’d packed your toothbrush!” I shout down the hallway to his room. It’s Easter weekend and Simon and I both have four days off in a row. We’re going to my family home in Hampshire and it will be glorious, but only if Simon packs his fucking things like I fucking asked him. </p>
<p>“I did pack my tooth—!” he begins to protest. I walk into our room and hurl his toothbrush at him. He catches it with his tail. “Oop, guess I didn’t.” </p>
<p>“Do I need to check after you to ensure you packed clean pants as well?” I sneer. </p>
<p>“Your plans involve clothing? Most of mine don’t.” Simon folds his arms across his chest and stares me down, trying to smirk. I’ve fed recently, so I can feel my traitorous cheeks starting to flush. </p>
<p>“Just—check to make sure you packed something clean, Simon,” I say, somehow simultaneously both defeated and aroused.</p>
<p>We get the train, then a cab out to the estate. They try to pull that bullshit where they drop us at the start of the drive, but I throw another 20 their way and they begrudgingly take us to the front door. Next time we come out here I’m driving. We’re stealing Fiona’s car. She owes me, not for anything specific, but a general owing. The kind of owing that comes from my having to put up with her shit for so many years. </p>
<p>“Still as creepy and gothic as I remembered,” Simon says, once we’re standing at the door. We haven’t been back since Simon/The Humdrum sucked all the magic from this place. </p>
<p>“It’s not Gothic, it's Victorian,” I say, because familiar shittiness is all I can manage as we stand in the shadow of my abandoned childhood home. </p>
<p>I shouldn't say abandoned, because it's still in fairly good order. Father has a caretaker that comes round regularly to dust and check up on the place. A Normal caretaker. No need to hire someone magic. Nothing magickal survived to be cared for. The wraiths have gone wherever it is wraiths go, the next sprawling Victorian manor, I suppose. </p>
<p>We’ve dumped our bags just inside the door and Simon is staring at me expectantly as we stand in the entryway.</p>
<p>“Well?”</p>
<p>“Well what, Snow?” </p>
<p>He gestures for me to get on with it. “Aren’t you going to use your magic? Test it out, see if the dead spot really has closed completely?” </p>
<p>Oh. In all my excitement to be back here and alone  with Simon for the weekend, I sort of forgot our ultimate goal is research. We’re here to check if the holes in the magickal atmosphere have fully healed. After several calls back and forth between Martin Bunce, my father, and myself, in which I had to be extremely careful not to give any hints about Simon's magic returning, it was decided it would be easier for me to pop out and check than either of them. And whither I go, so goeth Simon. Thank fuck. I wouldn’t want to do this without him. </p>
<p>I pull my wand from inside my jacket. </p>
<p>The leather grip feels good in my hand and there is a tension and a pull in my wrist, as if there’s magic here that's ready and waiting to be used. Plus, Simon’s wings and tail are still tidily spelled away, which is our first clue that all’s well in the magickal atmosphere.</p>
<p>Lifting my arm and aiming towards the staircase before us, I cast <strong>l</strong><b>et there be light.</b></p>
<p>The place explodes in brightness. </p>
<p>Simon knocks his elbow into me, and I nearly drop my wand. </p>
<p>“That’s good, right Baz?” </p>
<p>I turn to him, ready to respond with something curt and shitty, but the look on his face stops me. He's blotchy and red, and he’s biting his lip. If I didn't know better I'd say he was on the verge of tears. </p>
<p>“Simon, what’s wrong?” </p>
<p>“I just—I was worried is all. I thought maybe even with all the other holes closing up this one wouldn’t cuz it was so big. So expansive. And I’d be responsible for ruining your family home forever. And I really didn’t like the thought of that. You have memories of your mum here. And—and—” </p>
<p>I run my hand over his cheek and he takes a deep, steadying breath before resting his head on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around his broad, warm, shoulders and squeeze.</p>
<p>“You sweet, lovely, fool. Everything's fine. You haven’t ruined anything, you never did. Come on. Let’s get our things upstairs and figure out what to do next.” </p>
<p>“Oh, I know exactly what to do next,” Simon says, smiling up at me wickedly and sliding his hand along my waist.</p>
<p>“And what’s that, Snow?” I whisper breathily back to him. My thighs clench in expectation. </p>
<p>“Go flying.”</p>
<p>All right. Not what I expected. </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>I’m sat in the back garden with a strong drink and a book laid out in front of me. I’m only half paying attention to what I’m reading, though. It’s far more pleasant to lean back and watch Simon soar in and out of my field of vision, high above me. He’s majestic in flight. I wish he could do it more often. He flew when we were in America, at least when we were in the vast empty bits in the middle. I remember thinking it was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen and how much I wanted to be able to find a way for him to do that here. I suppose we finally have.</p>
<p>I watch him carve lazy figure eights in the sky, up and down. Then he hovers, caught in a high draft of air, wings splayed wide on either side of him, his silhouette dark and devilish against the soft clouds beyond. </p>
<p>Which makes it all the easier to see the moment his wings disappear and he begins to plummet back down to earth.</p>
<p>I practically destroy furniture in my rush to get to him. Fuck. Fucking fuck. What’s happening?! Did Simon manage to fly into the lingering remnants of the dead spot?</p>
<p>He’s free-falling out of the sky. If I can get to him I might be able to use my strength to cushion his fall. Or magic, surely there’s a spell. If I weren’t so brain-addled with terror I’d probably have something usable by now to have slowed his descent. </p>
<p>As quickly as his wings disappear, they reappear. They burst forth and he arcs back up into the sky. I’m close enough to hear his whoop of joyous laughter as he rises. </p>
<p>That little fucker meant to do it. He spelled his wings away and back again on purpose. </p>
<p>I aim my wand at my throat and cast <b>I know you can hear me</b>. It’s a spell for getting the attention of misbehaving children. Perfect for Snow.</p>
<p>“<em>Simon fucking Snow, don’t you ever scare me like that again or so help me I’ll rip your wings off and feed them to worsegers!</em>” </p>
<p>Simon tucks his wings in close to his body and angles himself, diving in an arc towards me. He spreads his wings to catch his fall when he’s terrifyingly close to the ground, much closer than before. Then he hovers there before me, just out of reach, the beating of his wings keeping him aloft and sending my hair flying around my face. I hate it. I love it. </p>
<p>“You called?” he smirks. </p>
<p>“You scared the shit out of me, you absolute nightmare.” </p>
<p>He smiles a wicked smile and starts to climb higher. </p>
<p>“What scared you, Baz? This?” he calls over his shoulder, then takes off terrifyingly fast into the sky. He whirls in midair before making his wings disappear once more. He leans into his dive this time, tucking his body with purpose to speed his descent. He’s a fast learner, and right now he’s learning how to utterly terrify me in the most effective possible way. All the muscles in my body are clenched as he falls towards the earth. He follows a beautiful downward arc before letting his wings unfurl even more perilously close to the ground. Then he lands with a little hopping step and continues charging towards me across the lawn, eyes blazing, wings extended behind.</p>
<p>Why does he look angry? What in Crowley’s name does <em> he </em>have to be angry about?! He’s not the one who thought they were about to watch their partner splatter themselves across the countryside. Multiple times.</p>
<p>“Don’t you argue with me, Snow, that was fucking terrifying. I swear to Merlin, if you ever—” He reaches me, but doesn’t slow his movement, grabbing me by the arms and wrestling me backwards until he’s on all fours above me, pinning me to the grass. </p>
<p>Then his mouth is on mine and it’s all heat and sparks and desire. I might have misinterpreted the look in his eyes from moments ago. It was a fair mistake. </p>
<p>Eventually he breaks for air. </p>
<p>“Simon, please tell me you’re not turning into an adrenaline junkie. I flatly refuse to watch you nearly plummet to your death just because you get off on it.”</p>
<p>Simon grinds against me.</p>
<p>“I’m not getting off on it. I get off on <em> you</em>.” </p>
<p>“Alright, fair enough. Inside?” </p>
<p>“No. Here.” He kisses down my neck and tugs my shirt free of my trousers. His wings shudder and spread above us.</p>
<p>“Simon, someone might see.”</p>
<p>He pulls back and gives me a look that says I’ve just won Prize Idiot at the Fair. </p>
<p>“I’ve been flying around the last hour with fuckoff massive red wings and you’re worried someone will see us getting off in the garden?” His tail snakes up my leg and traces along the waistband of my trousers.</p>
<p>I’m an idiot.</p>
<p>And I don’t think I’ll ever get the grass stains out of these jeans, magic or no.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <b>SIMON</b>
</p>
<p>The weekend in Hampshire is good. It’s very good. It’s good because the magic is back and it’s good to build some memories that don’t involve us fighting each other and slaughtering dark creatures. </p>
<p>Baz has been teaching me some spectacle magic while we’ve been here, the kind of big showy stuff we can’t get away with in the city, but kids used to learn at Watford. There was a whole class on it 7th year, at which Baz excelled. Of course he did. He excels at everything. Just today he taught me how to shoot up an illusion of fireworks, dead helpful for celebrations where you don’t want to scare the dogs and burn down half a forest. (“But isn’t burning down forests on brand for you?” I’d asked. Baz only frowned and shot up a firework between us.)</p>
<p>We’ve also been dueling with magic. He's teaching me defensive and attack spells, the kind of things they tried to teach me at Watford, but I could never learn. Now I get them. Now they work. I wish Baz had been my teacher all along, maybe I could have learned to control my magic. Back when it mattered. Back when it would have counted for something. But that's not a road my brain needs to travel down. </p>
<p>Dueling with Baz has been embarrassingly effective at turning me on. Which I guess makes sense, when I really think about it. Where does the antagonism end and the lust begin? It's a fine line and we're experts at dancing along it.</p>
<p>We’re not doing any of that right now though, nothing spectacular. Nothing exhilarating. Right now we’re in the kitchen and I’m doing mundane, everyday magic. I’m making our dinner, and I’m using magic to do as much of it as possible. So far I’ve managed not to fuck it up too badly, but I’m only making cheese toasties and some soup. Apply heat and remove heat. That’s more Baz’s thing than mine, he'd have finished making dinner in seconds, I can't see why he's having me do it, except I keep catching glimpses of him smiling at me as I work.</p>
<p>I use a bit of magic to send Baz’s plate floating over to him. He’s pretending to pick at dirt under his nails, as if I hadn’t seen him in my periphery beaming away proudly just a moment ago. He thinks he’s so cool. I'm going to mess him up before this evening is through.</p>
<p>I sit across from him and tuck in, and for a while we quietly eat.</p>
<p>It’s oddly domestic for us. Pleasant. Everything feels warm, safe, and comforting. Merlin knows it won’t last forever. Even if there aren’t any more dark creatures to fight, there’ll still be battles in our future, disagreements. But it’s <em> our </em>future, isn’t it? And that’s what makes even the knowledge of inevitable frustrations feel warm and safe. There’s a comforting inevitability in knowing it’s he and I against the world. (And sometimes against one another.)</p>
<p>Baz finishes his food and spells his plate over to the sink. Then he clears his throat and sits up a little straighter in his chair. Honestly, that’s quite a feat because his manners are consistently formal, even when he’s relaxing in the kitchen of his childhood home wearing joggers and nibbling at a cheese toastie.</p>
<p>“Simon, I’ve given more thought to the idea of teaching.”</p>
<p>“And?” </p>
<p>“And I’d like to pursue it. Most likely at the University level, which would allow me to continue my research on Linguistics.” He tugs at his cuffs, which is how I know he’s not finished speaking. “Then perhaps someday, if we’re both amenable to it, I could take a position at Watford. That is, if a suitable position is ever available.” </p>
<p>I lean forward across the table and gesture for Baz to give me his hand. He does, but only after sighing and rolling his eyes. I can tell he’s pleased though, because the effort of keeping a smile off his face has made his mouth a tight line. I don’t know why he doesn’t let himself smile, but I’ve noticed since we’ve been here there are little ways his behavior has regressed. He’s acting a bit more like his old self, the stoic, murdery teen I grew up with. I like the challenge of pushing him out of that. I’ve always liked a challenge. </p>
<p>“You’ll make a brilliant teacher, Baz. And I support you fully, wherever your career takes you.” I smile at him and squeeze his hand. His face cracks at that and I get the full smile. It’s beautiful. But I’m greedy. I want more. “You have to promise me one thing, though.” </p>
<p>“What’s that?” </p>
<p>“Only one tweed suit jacket with elbow patches, please, Professor Pitch. I don’t think our wardrobe can take more than that.” </p>
<p>He laughs at my words and it’s a full body experience, his head falling back and his torso shaking. It’s a long, loud, beautiful sound. It’s exactly what I wanted. I will never stop marveling at the fact Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch lets me see him laugh. That I can be the one to <em> make </em> him laugh.</p>
<p>“No promises, love.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>BAZ</b>
</p>
<p>I'm relaxing in the bath after dinner when I hear a soft tapping at the door.</p>
<p>"I'm assuming that's you, Simon, and not an extremely polite wraith returning to the property." He slowly opens the door and enters.</p>
<p>"I didn't want to barge in.”</p>
<p>"You're welcome to barge in. I'd like you to barge in. In fact, your barging in would fulfill some very niche teenage fantasies of mine." Perhaps I’ve been in the bath too long and it’s getting to me. I seem to be word-vomiting.</p>
<p>Simon laughs. “Alright, well, I’ll keep that in mind for the future. How’s the bath?” </p>
<p>I sink a little lower and groan in delight. </p>
<p>“I’ll take that as good?” Simon laughs, leaning against the wall and staring down at me.</p>
<p>“It’s wonderful. The tub at ours is simply awful. But this?” I close my eyes and ease even deeper, until the water comes up to my chin. I should be ashamed of the moan that comes out of me. “This is <em> exceptional</em>.”</p>
<p>“How strange that one of the<em> many </em>baths in a multi-million pound estate would be nicer than the one in a flat shared by a bunch of Uni students? Shocking.” </p>
<p>I open one eye and peer at Simon. He gives me a glare, but there’s no heat behind it. Speaking of no heat. </p>
<p>“Heat up my water, would you Simon?” I ask, with just enough inflection in my voice that he can take it as innuendo. He doesn’t, though. He simply sighs, extracts his wand from his back pocket, and spells the water warmer with a <b>some like it hot</b>. </p>
<p>“Making you dinner, tidying after dinner, heating your bathwater...I’m beginning to think you’re just using me for my magic.” </p>
<p>“Yes, love. You’ve finally figured it out. My grand plot all along was to get you to lose your magic, then slowly gain it back while I patiently teach you how to use it, and then ask you to do a few small chores. You’ve caught me! My evil plan is foiled!” I slap the surface of the water in mock frustration.</p>
<p>“I’ve always excelled at uncovering your plots.” </p>
<p>“You’ve never uncovered a single one of my plots. Ever.” </p>
<p>Simon growls at that, but his growl turns into a laugh. </p>
<p>“Perhaps <em>I</em> should plot against <em>you</em>, then.” </p>
<p>“You’re not capable.” I glower at him and sink back into the bath, low enough that he can't see my maniacal smile beneath the water. </p>
<p>He eyes me for a moment, then pushes off from the wall and starts stripping off his clothing. Is this his plot? To turn me on? He can plot all he likes, then. I lean on the side of the tub and enjoy the show. He clambers in at the other end and our legs knock together uncomfortably. His foot shoves into my hip, his thigh smashes my ankle hard against the side of the tub. </p>
<p>“Simon, dear, the tub’s a good size, but it’s not about to hold two grown men.” </p>
<p>Simon stares off into space, his head cocked to the side. He bites his lip and seems to be deep in thought for a moment. Then he reaches out to where he left his wand atop his pile of hastily shed clothing and casts <b>it’s bigger on the inside</b>. The tub does suddenly feel large enough for us both. Bony toes no longer dig into my side.</p>
<p>“That’s a rather clever spell, when did Penny teach it to you?” </p>
<p>“She didn’t.” </p>
<p>“Where did you learn it, then?”</p>
<p>“Nowhere. It gets said on Doctor Who an awful lot and I wondered if there was something in it as a spell. Figured it was worth a try. Seems to have worked.” </p>
<p>“Wait. Did you—did you just invent a spell?” I sit up in the tub so forcefully it makes the water slosh back and forth. My knees knock into Simon’s. He shrugs. "Did you just invent a spell <em>on the first try?"</em></p>
<p>“Nah, surely someone’s done it before.” </p>
<p>“I’ve never heard of it. I think you might have created a spell, you ridiculous, wonderful creature. Oh Crowley, and a spell that can make a tub larger? It could make our bath at the flat larger! Simon, I've never loved you more!” I fling myself across the tub and kiss him with a forcefulness that should be embarrassing. I'm so proud of him, and so excited to be able to take a fucking bath back at our flat. </p>
<p>Eventually he pulls back with a gasp. I return to my end of the bath. </p>
<p>“I'm sure someone else has thought of it before, Baz. I can’t be unique.” </p>
<p>“You can be and you <em>are</em>. I’ve never heard of that spell before, and don’t you think if there were something that could make that pokey little tub at home larger I’d have used it by now?” </p>
<p>He shrugs again. I seriously consider shoving him down beneath the bathwater in response.</p>
<p>"You and Penny never finished your 8th year spells, did you?"</p>
<p>"No. We're drop-outs, mate."</p>
<p>"Don't call me mate."</p>
<p>"Alright...friend."</p>
<p>I nudge him with my foot. <em>Friend</em> indeed.</p>
<p>"It's not a big deal, Baz. I definitely didn't invent this spell."</p>
<p>“Simon,” I say with forcefulness. His eyes go wide and he juts out his chin, preparing for a fight. I’m ready for this one. This is a fight he will not win. He needs to see reality. He needs to see what I see. “Let yourself be good at this. Let yourself be clever and creative and <em> good at magic</em>. Let it happen, love. <em>Admit</em> it’s happening.” </p>
<p>“But I’m <em> not </em>good at magic.” He frowns and flicks at the top of the water. </p>
<p>“Maybe you weren’t when we were at Watford, but you are now. You’re clever and you’re a good student.” </p>
<p>“Does it hurt to admit I’m good at something?” Simon smirks, parroting back words I’ve said to him before. </p>
<p>“No, love,” I reach down into the warm water and rub at his calves and ankles. “What hurts is to hear you say you’re <em> not </em>good at something. You’re brilliant. You’re Simon Fucking Snow. Mage. Warrior poet. Winged Fury. Survivor.” </p>
<p>He smiles and leans his head back against the tile. </p>
<p>“Keep saying nice things about me Baz.”</p>
<p>I roll my eyes and make a small <em>tsk</em> noise. “So needy.” </p>
<p>But I do what he asks because he deserves it. Because he doesn’t hear it enough, and he should. I tell him every single thing I love about him. I start with his mind and his heart and all the wonderful things he doesn’t see in himself. His bravery, his kindness, his sense of humour, even his stubbornness. He blushes with such ferocity I worry it might start the water of the bath boiling around us. Then I describe, in vivid detail, the things I like about his face, his hair, his body.  By the time I finish describing what the curve of his spine does to me he’s practically panting. </p>
<p>“Baz?” </p>
<p>“Yes?” </p>
<p>“Can we go to bed now?” </p>
<p>“I’m not tired, Simon.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t say a damn thing about sleeping.” </p>
<p>Torrents of water splash on the floor in my rush back to the bedroom. It’s fine. My boyfriend is an exceptional mage. I’ll have him spell it clean later.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Simon wants Penny to resolve some unfinished business from their past. Baz wants Simon to stop being so self-deprecating.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>PENNY</b>
</p><p>Baz has a paper due, so he’s left Simon and I to work on today’s lesson. I think he’s starting to trust me again, both of them, because I’ve taken Shepard’s advice and I’m letting most of our magic lessons devolve into childish play fighting. Not childish, that sounds dismissive. Child-<em> like </em>. I think we’re both compensating for the fact we probably should have been doing this at Watford all along, but Simon was never allowed to just play with his magic or have fun. Simon was never allowed to treat magic as anything other than a deathly serious tool. </p><p>I like making him laugh with magic, now that we’re allowed. Now that it’s not Life and Death, Good and Evil, Fate of the World type stuff. It’s lovely and awful, because it makes me think about how different our lives could have been. Could we have had this at Watford if Simon weren’t the Chosen One? Could we have been like this from the start? Laughing and joking and practising magic together?</p><p>Simon shakes me out of my reverie by sending a pillow sailing across the room towards my face with a ruthless <b>up in the air</b>. I counter with <b>hit the deck</b> and it falls to the floor. Laughing, Simon tries to cast again, but I step on the pillow and hold it in place before he can finish his spell. Then, I spell one of Simon’s jackets off the hook by the door and wrap it around his face with a <b>tight squeeze</b>. He laughs and falls back on the sofa, grappling with the arms of the jacket as they wrap around his face. His voice is so muffled beneath the fabric and I barely hear it when he says <em>I surrender</em> between laughs. </p><p>I release my hold on the spell and flop down on the sofa beside him. </p><p>“Hey Pen?” he says softly, pulling the jacket from his head.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“You’re so good and clever with spells.”</p><p>“I know.” I pretend to flip my hair (it’s in a bun) over my shoulder and preen. Simon laughs. </p><p>“I mean, you created that amazing Missy Elliot spell for my wings—”</p><p>“Ooo! Speaking of! I’ve been thinking about another of her lyrics, <b>Supa Dupa Fly,</b> for a spell that could keep you in the air longer, maybe allow you to hover without having to constantly flap your wings.”</p><p>“That sounds great Pen.” His voice doesn’t sound like he thinks it’s great, his voice sounds suddenly tight and nervous.</p><p>“What is it, Simon?” </p><p>“It’s just—you’re amazing with spells, but you never finished your 8th year spell, did you? The one you were trying to come up with for <b>the game is afoot</b>.” </p><p>“Nope. I didn’t.” </p><p>Simon’s biting his lip and running his hand over the back of his neck. I bump his knee with mine.</p><p>“It’s not a big deal Simon. If I felt that strongly I could try to finish it.”</p><p>We sit silently for a while, and I can practically hear Simon’s brain churning through thoughts. I give him the time and space to think through whatever it is he wants to say.  </p><p>“Sometimes—sometimes I feel so overwhelmingly awful I stopped you from finishing 8th year—”</p><p>“You didn’t stop me from <em> shit! </em> When have I <em> ever </em> let <em> anyone </em> stop me from doing something I wanted to do?!” My voice rings out loud and clear in the flat. Definitely with more volume and anger than I intended. I hear Baz rustling about in he and Simon's bedroom. He must think Simon and I are having a row. I guess I am yelling.</p><p>“I just...feel bad you didn’t get to finish. You’re so clever, Penny. You deserved to finish.” </p><p>“Well, I don’t feel bad. Not at all!” Baz has joined us by now, draping his arm across the back of a chair and trying to look as if he’s not waiting on the sidelines to potentially diffuse a fight. “Simon, don’t you dare make me feel guilty for caring about you!” </p><p>I notice Baz is tracing his fingers over his palm, no, not his palm—he’s tracing his fingers over the tip of his wand he’s slid down his sleeve. Is this pillock going to try and spell us apart? That won’t end well for him. </p><p>Simon turns to look at me fully, his eyes searching my face. They’re a part of him that hasn’t changed in all the years I’ve known him. Still bright blue and piercing. Still somehow happy and sad and innocent and world-weary all at once. He sighs and closes his eyes.</p><p>“I’ll always feel guilty for what happened, Penny. But I know that’s something for <em> me </em>to work on, not you.” I reach out and squeeze his knee. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” </p><p>“Simon, I don’t have any regrets. I’m your dread companion, even still. Anyway, I needed that time to process, too.”</p><p>Baz seems to realise there was never any fight brewing between Simon and I, and he slides into the chair to sit down. Everything he does is graceful, even falling into a chair. Must be a vampire thing.</p><p>“So, what were you two loud arses on about anyway?” he asks.</p><p>“I want Penny to work on her 8th year spell, the one I kept her from finishing when we dropped out of Watford.”</p><p>“We didn’t drop out, Simon. 8th year is <em> optional</em>. I <em> opted </em> out.”</p><p>“After doing half the year?”</p><p>“I half-opted out.”</p><p>“Still, I think working on the spell could be good, right? It could offer some catharsis?” <em> Catharsis </em>is an awfully big word for Simon Snow. And then everything clicks in my brain. My stomach drops and it’s clear as fucking day that this is something he’s talked about with his therapist. This must be a part of his plan to continue processing his trauma. He clearly feels guilt that I didn’t finish 8th year and somewhere in his mind he thinks that if he can get me to figure out this spell it’ll make it alright. Well, alright.</p><p>“I’m in. Let’s do it. With Baz on our side we can really activate the power of the brain trust.” </p><p>“I don’t feel any particular need to offer assistance to you two wastrels. I finished <em> my </em>8th year spell,” Baz drawls. </p><p>Simon and I glance at one another and nod before spelling both the pillow and the jacket over to hit Baz in the face. He laughs, and for a while it’s a full-on magickal onslaught. Pitch vs. Snow and Bunce, the way it was always meant to be. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <b>SIMON</b>
</p><p>“Perhaps it’s a spell for starting mischief? Pranks and such?” Baz offers. We’re eating takeaway and discussing Penny’s 8th year spell.</p><p>“<em>Pranks and such?!” </em> Penny practically howls around a mouthful of lo mein. “Did you just say <em> pranks and such?! </em> Nicks and Slick, you’re so posh.” </p><p>Baz grumbles into his Thai green curry. I reach out and pat his knee reassuringly. Penny's right. He really is stupidly posh. Some of the ridiculous shite that comes out of his mouth...</p><p>“It’s not a bad idea, Baz. Could be used to start a plan in motion after you’ve done all the legwork to set it up, right?” </p><p>“See, Simon gets it.” Baz stares at Penny as if to say <em> ‘and if even a dullard like Simon can get it, then you should too, Bunce! </em> I try not to be offended. </p><p>“Could the spell have something to do with what y’all call football?” Shepard suggests from where he’s sitting on the floor at Penny’s feet. </p><p>“What we call football is, in fact, <em>football</em>,” Baz says with a sneer. “The ball is kicked by the foot, therefore it is football. Your American abomination of homoerotic grunting that results in sweaty piles of men would be better renamed Throwball or Repressed Homosexual Tendencies Ball.” </p><p>"Repressed Homosexual Tendencies Ball is what they've started to call your Leavers Ball, Baz, ever since you and Simon snogged on the dance floor in front of everyone," Penny snorts out a laugh. I join her because...well...it's funny, isn't it? And true.</p><p>“Shepard, are you suggesting that we try it with a football just because the spell has <em> game </em> and <em> foot </em>in the name? Isn’t that a little too on the nose?” Penny offers. </p><p>“I dunno, try it out.” Shep shrugs, still smiling. Ever the optimist.</p><p>Penny casts <b>come out, come out, wherever you are</b> on the football Baz and I sometimes use for a kickaround in the park. It comes rolling gently out of our room. </p><p>Penny clears her throat, raises her ring hand and says <b>the game is afoot!</b> But nothing happens. The ball doesn’t so much as shake in response. </p><p>Baz slides his wand down his sleeve and casts. Still nothing. </p><p>“Alright, so not football related, then.” </p><p>We continue to eat and chat for a while, Shep tells us about the time he went skinny dipping on a camping trip up in Scotland and swears the Loch Ness monster nibbled on his foot.</p><p>“Will you hunt tonight?” I ask Baz as we all gather up the plates and takeaway containers at the end of the meal. </p><p>“No, I fed last night and don’t particularly feel like going out in the pissing rain to track down small game. I’ll be fine.” </p><p>Penny drops the plates she’d been holding, her eyes suddenly wide. </p><p>“For the love of Mother Shipton!” she says. “<em>Game. </em> Of course that’s it! We should have been much more literal! <em> The game is afoot </em> could be a hunting spell, couldn’t it? To summon animals?” </p><p>“I suppose it could be, there wouldn’t be much use in that though, what with bleeding heart liberals putting an end to fox hunting and the—” </p><p>“Nope, shut up Pitch, you ridiculous toff,” Penny says, waving a dismissive hand in his face. “Of course it’s not for <em>that kind of hunting</em>. And that’s the brilliance of it. That’s why nobody’s figured it out yet. It’s for <em> you, </em> you idiot.” </p><p>“Me?” Baz says, perplexed. I love to see him perplexed. </p><p>“<em>You. </em> Who else would want to cast a spell for game to come to them but a vampire mage. A spell unique to your particular circumstances, and I suppose Nicodemus’ as well, if he’s also sucking down the blood of animals.” </p><p>“<b>The game is afoot</b>,” I say quietly. “A hunting spell to flush out whatever animals are nearby. That’s genius.” My heart flutters in my chest, it feels as if it’ll burst right out. This is it. She’s figured it out. </p><p>“What would be the intonation? Where would you place the emphasis?” Baz is off and running with a list of questions. He and Penny move to the sofa to sit side by side. Their eyes are dancing as they talk animatedly with one another. I love watching them discuss magic. I always have. They get it. They get each other. They’re a kind of magic themselves when they get like this. </p><p>I gather up the plates Penny dropped.</p><p>“You sit, I’ll clear,” Shep says, grabbing them from my hands. </p><p>“We both know they don’t need me.” </p><p>“Sit. You’ve got your magic back now, this is a conversation you should be a part of.” He smiles and jerks his head towards Baz and Penny. So I join them, knowing full-well I won’t really be able to contribute much to the discourse.</p><p>“Would you use the complete Henry IV quote, or more from the Holmes version?” Penny asks. </p><p>“No, keep it simple.”</p><p>“And I think the emphasis would be on <em> game, </em> don’t you?”</p><p>“I think so, that would match with the intention, to flush out whatever animals are in the vicinity.”</p><p>I find my head is volleying back and forth between them. I lick my lips and clear my throat. </p><p>“Might be a stupid thought,” I begin. “But it could be interesting to try and cast the full line from Shakespeare while outside The Globe, right? Just for a lark one day, see what it does? Should be <em> extra </em>powerful there.” </p><p>Penny and Baz turn to me. I worry for a moment they’ll exile me from the sofa for Unnecessary Contribution of Dumb Ideas.</p><p>“That’s—that’s actually quite a good suggestion, Simon.” Penny says. </p><p>“Alright, you needn’t sound so shocked.” I laugh, and she does too. It feels good. It feels like something resolving after all this time. Like a tight and awful thing is coming unspooled in my chest and allowing me to breathe deep.</p><p>“So we’re agreed, we keep it simple and concise, with the emphasis on the word game, and we try the complete quote outside The Globe someday soon, yes?” Penny’s head is bobbing, her messy bun flopping around at the back of her head. </p><p>“It’s worth a try, Bunce. I’m game if you are.” </p><p>“Pun intended?” </p><p>“Very much so.” </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>We’re not able to test the spell for several days. Life keeps getting in the way. First, it’s raining and Baz refuses to go out in it saying something about his hair (I shout at him a bit about weatherization spells and he only rolls his eyes), then we have three successive days of us each working on massive papers that are due, and after that Shepard gets a head cold and we still all feel so guilty about not including him in that first magic lesson that we wait til he’s better. Finally we have a night where we’re all free, and it’s in the middle of the week so there’ll be fewer people on the streets. </p><p>We’re on our way to a common right now, a large one that’s sure to have some sort of game. Baz says he’ll settle for whatever prey we can find, a rabbit, a fox, even some goth teens hanging out after dark drinking cheap vodka. </p><p>It’s fully dark out, and the gates are shut. They’ve put that awful anti-climb stuff all over the fencing, too, to keep people from sneaking in. Not much can keep out a determined pack of mages, though. Penny takes hold of Shep’s hand and casts <b>break on through to the other side</b>. Baz and I quickly follow suit and spell ourselves to join them. </p><p>It’s still and quiet in the park. We walk for a while, in silence, the only sound the shuffling of our feet through the grass. </p><p>“Here’s as good a place as any,” Baz says, stopping on the path. </p><p>“Alright, who’s casting?” I ask, looking between Baz and Penny. They stare at one another and back at me. </p><p>“Ok, fine, I’ll do it,” Shepard says, rolling his eyes melodramatically. It cuts the nervous tension a bit and we share a quickly stifled laugh. </p><p>“Couldn’t you all do it?” Shep asks. “In chorus? I know you’ve talked about mages casting in groups before. Wouldn’t it be more powerful if you all three try at once?” </p><p>“Shepard, you mad genius. That’s perfect! I love you!” Penny says, tugging him down into a kiss. Baz and I share a look, his eyebrows are halfway up his forehead. I don’t think I’ve heard Penny say she loves Shepard out loud before. I’m sure they say it in private, they’ve been together nearly a year but still...<em>I</em><em>’ve </em>never heard her say it, and I’m her best mate. </p><p>They detach around the time I start to feel uncomfortable and after Baz’s third exasperated sigh/eyeroll combination.</p><p>“I agree it’s a good idea,” Baz offers. “Though I won’t be showing my appreciation for the suggestion in quite the same way as Bunce.” </p><p>Shepard laughs at that. </p><p>Penny, Baz, and I stand together. Penny extends an open hand between us, I take her hand in mine and Baz places his on top. I feel her warmth and his coolness seeping into me. I extract my wand from my jacket pocket and Baz does the same. Then we look back and forth between one another. </p><p>“Ready?” Penny asks. </p><p>“Ready,” we respond. </p><p>She mouths a countdown. <em> Three. Two. One. Go.  </em></p><p>
  <b> <em>“The game is afoot!” </em> </b>
</p><p>There is a pause, who knows how long it lasts, but I’m pretty sure I’m not breathing and then...then there are the unmistakable rustling noises of an animal. And a deer, a <em> fucking deer </em> trots into view at the edge of the park. </p><p>“Holy shit…” Shepard whispers. </p><p>“It worked!” I shout, scaring off the deer and defeating the entire purpose of the spell. </p><p>Penny launches herself at me and I catch her up in a hug. </p><p>“Good spell work, team,” she nods at Baz and I once she’s pulled away from the hug. </p><p>“Indeed. Although it would be lovely if you could manage not to bellow at my prey next time, Snow. I could have gone for a deer.” Baz pouts melodramatically.</p><p>“Yes. Well. The next time we manage to accomplish righting a wrong I’ve done against my best friend I’ll be sure to keep cool about it.” </p><p>Penny places a firm hand on my arm and squeezes. </p><p>“I keep telling you, you didn’t wrong me.” </p><p>“I know, but I’ll probably never stop feeling guilty about it.” </p><p>“Do you feel guilty enough to, say, buy us all a round at the pub?” Penny laughs. </p><p>“You know, I might even feel guilty enough to buy two.” </p><p>We leave the park, Penny and Shepard arm in arm ahead of us, Baz beside me holding my hand. </p><p>“Well done, Snow,” he says quietly. </p><p>“I think it was all you and Penny, really. I was just along for the ride.” </p><p>“I must insist you stop all this self-deprecation at once. It’s unseemly. It’s self-indulgent. And it’s really fucking stupid.” We both laugh. </p><p>“But, weren’t <em> you </em>the one who always told me I was a sorry excuse for a mage?” I ask, bumping my body against his. He only squeezes my hand tighter. </p><p>“Everyone makes mistakes, love.” </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p><p>We're getting ready for bed after celebrating at the pub. Simon spells his wings and tail back out and stretches them, letting them flex and swish through the air for a moment. He's learned he sleeps better like this, if he spells his wings out and stretches them before bed. I pull on my pyjamas hurriedly so I can watch.</p><p>He's standing there in only his pants, tugged down low around his hips so his tail can have freedom of movement.  He extends first one wing, then the other, their tips nearly scraping the walls of our small room. As he flexes his wings he rolls his shoulders and arms into it, tensing and releasing. I watch the muscles of his upper body move beneath a layer of fat.</p><p>The layer of fat makes me indecently happy. It means he's eating regularly, reliably, routinely. It means he's taken care of. He's taking care of himself, and he's letting others care for him as well. I should buy him a cake tomorrow. Sit there and watch him eat the whole thing.</p><p>Then he's arching his back ridiculously, and all thoughts that aren't SIMON rush from my mind. All the muscles of his abdomen are stretched taught, his arms clasped above his head and his wings sort of shivering in that way your muscles do when you hold a stretch just beyond the point of comfort. His tail goes poker straight, like an exclamation point, as if to say THIS! This man loves you! This is who you get to sleep next to at night! THIS!</p><p>He groans, and with a sigh, relaxes, his tail flopping down to wind lazily around his thigh, his wings shuddering and folding into place on his back.</p><p>"<em>Fuck me</em>, you're gorgeous," falls out of my mouth before I can stop myself. Simon tries to smirk, but manages instead to raise both eyebrows and smile like an idiot. I love him so much. I feel myself blush, I'm full of stolen blood now. We tried the spell one more time on the way back from the pub. This time we were able to flush out a fox.</p><p>Simon spells away his wings and crawls into bed. I climb in beside him. He's laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, breathing slowly, but he's not making any effort to sleep. His eyes are wide open. I see them flash blue even in the dark.</p><p>"You seem to be feeling better now Penny's figured out her spell," I say quietly.</p><p>"Yeah, a bit. I'm glad she did it. She deserved to figure it out."</p><p>"It was kind of you to encourage her."  I tuck myself closer to him and lay a flat palm across his stomach. I can feel him breathe this way. He's taking long breaths, deep ones. Nearly a sigh with every fill of his lungs.</p><p>"Love, what are you thinking?" I ask.</p><p>"About how I feel like I'm finally starting to deserve you."</p><p>"What?" I lift myself up in bed to look down at him.</p><p>He rubs his hands over his face, tries to leave them there, but I gently circle my fingers around his wrists and remove them so I can see his face. His gorgeous, freckled, imperfect face.</p><p>"I'm glad my magic came back. I feel like you deserve someone with magic. You deserve someone—" Nope. I'm not hearing any more of this nonsense. I cut him off.</p><p>"Stop talking immediately." His head jerks and his eyes go wide. He stares me down, confused. "Look, you're persistent, Simon, I give you that. But you're persistent in the most idiotic possible way. This constant downplaying of your own talents, these little comments about how you're not good enough or smart enough or your wings make you a monster. They're all absolute rubbish. Complete and total nonsense."</p><p>I'm off and rolling now. Nothing can stop me. Though Simon, bless him, tries to.</p><p>"I'm just trying to say I'm happy my magic has come back, because you deserve—"</p><p>I give him one of my most withering looks and the words die in his mouth.</p><p>"You must think very little of me if you believe your magic is my priority."</p><p>Simon looks confused, shakes his head.</p><p>"No, I just—I mean—I feel like—damnit, Baz! You deserve to be with someone who isn't totally shit with their magic."</p><p>In an instant I shove the covers back and clamber on top of his body. I brace my hands on either side of his head and sit there, glaring down at him.</p><p>"Simon Snow, you were a shit mage at Watford." He snorts. "I'm serious. Think back to what your magic was like then."</p><p>"Uncontrollable, but I was powerful."</p><p>"Power doesn't matter without control. You were a <em>shit mage,</em>" I retort. He huffs out a small laugh and it makes my body bounce where I'm sitting astride his stomach.</p><p>"You were a shit mage <em>and I loved you</em>. You couldn't cast a spell to save your life and I loved you. You hated me and I loved you. You antagonised me, and provoked me, and pranked me, and were absolutely shit with your magic and<em> I loved you</em>. I loved you! Your magic doesn't matter. I love you no matter what<em>.</em> Do you hear me?"</p><p>"I hear you," he whispers. I lower myself down until I'm just above his face.</p><p>"Simon Snow, you've always been magic, whether you had control of magic or not. And I will love you whether you're a halfway decent mage, a totally shit mage, half-demon, normal, or even something as detestable and beneath me as a poet."</p><p>He laughs long and loud, I'm glad I've put up silencing spells in this room. I'm glad he's learning to reinforce them.</p><p>He wraps his arms around me and pulls me into a deep kiss.</p><p>"Careful, Baz. You were very nearly soft with me just then," he says, when he finally pulls away. I bite the tip of his nose, gently.</p><p>"All this ridiculous talk of what I deserve. Shut up and kiss me some more, Simon, <em>t</em><em>hat's</em> what I deserve." He does. He gives me more than I deserve. He always does.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading and for your kind comments. I'd like a thousand more fics to be written about Baz teaching Simon how to use his magic properly. Could this become a thing, please? </p><p>Speaking of, if you haven't read <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/17679413/chapters/41700245">Keep Calm</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias">aralias</a>, then please do! Their Baz Teaches Simon fic is the ultimate and no doubt influenced this one in subtle and non-subtle ways. ♥</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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